I’ve been bruised by more men than I’d like to admit
See even when we know better, we’re still ashamed of it
People don’t understand my anger
At the victim shaming, the blaming
“What did you do/What did you say that made him so mad?”
Or “Well it’s not like he hit you, so it wasn’t that bad.”
Once, he just forced me down on my knees
Held me there while he poured his entire beer over me
Once, to keep me from leaving
He secretly disconnected wires in my engine
No idea what he was doing, thought it would stall out
But not right away, it didn’t
Once, he just threw a remote at my head
Thankfully I reacted, he got my forearm instead
I covered welts and shame under lies and long sleeves
Sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks
And not to protect him, but to protect me
See I understand the reason we fold
No one can pick apart a story you never told
No details for people to hammer away at
No having to hear, “I just can’t see him acting like that.”
No one to claim you hurt yourself to be vengeful
No one to start a meme of your pain and call you hateful
No one to tell you, “you probably deserved what you got”
No one to spread rumors that violence gets you hot
No one to assume you brought it on yourself
No one to write you off as too much trouble to help
From the Margins of Notebooks 